


The Only Thing to Fear is Fear Itself

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: (as only Bridget would), Bridget to the rescue, Cutesy, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fear, Ficlet, Fluff, Storms, The layers of Mark Darcy, Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 19:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8501926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Mark's fear comes to the surface one stormy night, and Bridget is there to console him.





	

Bridget woke with a start. A clap of thunder had startled her from sleep, and now a bolt of lightning illuminated her bedroom, casting creepy shadows on her walls. She let out a little groan, annoyed that it had woken her up in the middle of the night. Rain pelted the window over her bed as she rolled over towards Mark, pulling the covers up closer around her. 

Bridget was just on the edge of sleep, the sound of the rain lulling her, when another clap of thunder crashed through the wall of her bedroom. She felt Mark squirm next to her, shoving himself further down the bed.  _ It's probably keeping him up, too,  _ she thought drowsily. Her eyes slid shut again. They snapped back open, though, when she heard Mark’s voice. 

“Oh, bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger…” Lightning struck again, accompanied by a roll of thunder. Mark groaned. “Oh,  _ bugger, bugger, bugger…” _

“Mark?” Bridget whispered, propping herself up on an elbow to get a better look at him. Ironically, all Bridget could see was his mop of brown curls peeking out from the duvet. The rest of him was hidden under the covers, and Bridget couldn't help wondering how he had managed to shove all 6 feet, 2 inches of himself under there without sliding off of the bed. 

“Mark?” she said again, this time louder. Bridget watched the blanket slide down a centimeter or two, allowing one of Mark’s eyes to peek out. 

“Yes?” was his muffled reply. 

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Sleeping, what does it look like I'm doing?” He pulled the covers down a bit further so that they rested just below his chin, framing his face. 

“I heard you muttering to yourself. And you never sleep with the covers over your face.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don't. I stare at you enough while you're asleep to know that you don't.”

She could see him roll his eyes and give a small, exasperated sigh. “I can't sleep,” he muttered. He squirmed some more, adjusting his body so that it was pivoted in her direction. His eyes were wide awake, the furrow between his brows deep and concerned. He still had the blanket pulled up to his chin, tucked underneath by his hands pulling it towards his torso. 

“Did something happen at work?” Mark shook his head. “Then what's wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he muttered, sinking deeper into the sheets. “Don't worry about it. Just go back to slee--” A clap of thunder shook the walls, and Mark quickly clamped his eyes shut as his shoulders came up around his ears. “ _ Fuck,”  _ he muttered, keeping his eyes closed. The covers pulled tighter into his fists as he jammed them underneath his chin. 

Bridget watched him wide-eyed. “Mark, are you alright?” she asked, gently running a hand across his brow in an attempt to smooth it. He opened one eye and nodded. 

“Yes, fine.”

“You don't seem fine. What's the matter?”

Another clap of thunder, accompanied with a streak of lightning, and Mark’s response was the same. He curled his body into the fetal position, clinging onto the blankets for dear life. 

“Mark, you aren't  _ scared _ , are you?” Bridget asked, tugging on the blanket from his death grip. He put up a fight, hanging tightly onto it, but eventually surrendered it to Bridget and allowed her to pull the blanket down from his face. 

“Scared is a very strong word,” he muttered, rolling onto his back with a sigh. “Uncomfortable? Yes. Disturbed? Yes. Scared is silly, though...I'm a grown man.” He ran a hand over his ashen face, dragging his features down with it. “Hate isn't too strong of a word, though.”

Bridget suppressed the smile she wanted to show, instead opting for a look of neutrality. “But Mark,” she started. “We live in England...how have you survived almost 40 years in one of the rainiest places on Earth if you have such a... _ strong  _ dislike of thunderstorms?” 

Mark rolled his head toward her and stated with simplicity, “Ear plugs.” Bridget could see the bags under his eyes and that his hair was matted down from the squirming and clenching his whole body had been doing. She brought her hand up to his face again and carded it through his hair, trying to fluff the matted parts. 

“Poor love,” she said. “I never knew you were scared of storms.”

Mark glared at her, clearly embarrassed that his secret had leaked out. “I told you. I'm not scared.”

“Mark, you clearly are. Look at you--half of your body is hanging off the bed and you have the wild-eyed look of a zebra at a watering hole. There's no shame in being scared. Storms are startling.” 

“I've never liked them. They're loud and unsettling and knock things off your walls...like the model planes I built when I was younger. I don't like a lack of control on intruders in my space, and thunder is  _ intrusive.”   _ His tone was petulant as he sank back onto the pillow. 

Bridget couldn't help the smile now on her face.  _ Big, bad Mark Darcy is scared of storms. Who would've thought.  _ She continued to gently rake her fingers through the fluff of his hair in the hopes that it would help him drift off. She could see his shoulders relaxing as a yawn marred his face. He let out a groan of pleasure as she continued to swirl circles on his scalp with her fingernails. 

A clap of thunder jolted him forward, knocking Bridget's hand away. It clearly had scared him senseless as he let out a loud, exasperated, “ _ Bloody hell!”  _ Once the echo had faded, he threw himself back onto his pillow and dragged the blanket back up to his chin. 

Bridget knew if she didn't do something, they'd both have a sleepless night, or worse, Mark would end up having a heart attack. Hesitantly, she said, “I have a pair of earmuffs in the hall closet. Not sure if they'd be as effective as your earplugs, but they might help to muffle the noise a bit.” 

Mark gave her a look. She knew his pride was doing to be her biggest obstacle, and he didn't let her down. “That's not necessary,” he said curtly. “I'll be fine. Really. Get some rest.”

Bridget rolled her eyes at him, to which he bristled. “Sorry, I just know you're  _ not  _ going to sleep, and let's be honest, neither will I. You're thrashing around and muttering to yourself like a lunatic.”

Mark let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Go get the blasted things,” he said. Bridget grinned at him as she threw the blankets off. 

“Be back in two shakes.”

Bridget returned a few minutes later, holding a pair of fluffy, black earmuffs. She could see Mark physically recoiling from them, and she arched an eyebrow at him. “They're the height of fashion, Mark Darcy, and you  _ will  _ wear them. Now here,” she said, shoving them towards him.

Begrudgingly, Mark took the earmuffs from her and placed them on his head. Bridget couldn't help the smirk on her face--he looked painfully adorable, sitting there in earmuffs with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. She swooped down and gave him a quick peck. “How's that?” she asked. 

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and shrugged. “Better, I guess,” he said. Bridget smiled at him and climbed back into bed. She settled herself back into her pillow and felt Mark do the same. 

As she tried to drift off to sleep, she could feel Mark tossing and turning. “What's wrong now?” she said in exasperation. 

“These bloody things are uncomfortable,” he grumbled. “I can't find a good spot to lay in.” A roll of thunder echoed across the sky, and although Bridget could see his fists clench, his reaction wasn't half as bad as before. He shot her a sheepish look and said, “I guess they're more helpful than I thought they'd be.”

Bridget gave him a sympathetic smile and slid her body up into a sitting position. She stuck an arm out to welcome Mark into her nook. He gave it a hesitant look, before asking, “Are you sure?” Bridget nodded and waved her hand to welcome him in. 

Mark scooted his body over and draped an arm across Bridget's belly before laying his head on her chest. Bridget brought an arm around him, laying her hand on the small of his back to gently trace circles on his tailbone. She could feel his body relaxing as she placed a kiss on top of his head, avoiding the band of the earmuffs. 

“Thank you, Bridget,” he sleepily murmured, giving her a squeeze. 

“You're welcome,” she whispered against his curls. 

By the time the next roll of thunder crashed into the bedroom, both were sound asleep and stayed that way until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> For darcysjones over a tumblr! Written for [this prompt list](http://hisreindeerjumper.tumblr.com/post/152728729755/send-me-characters-and-a-letter-and-ill-write), letter H. My last two were so angsty that I had to go back to my comfortable niche of cute fluffiness, so hopefully you enjoy!


End file.
